In the haze of my addiction, I met someone who mirrored my pain, my despair, and my hopelessness. We crossed paths at a time when the world seemed to have no place for us, and in each other, we sought refuge. But what we built was not a friendship—it was a storm disguised as safety.
A Bond Built on Brokenness
Our connection was forged in the fire of addiction, where truth and lies became indistinguishable. In the beginning, it felt like we were saving each other. We shared secrets we never would have dared to say out loud. We held each other up when the weight of life threatened to crush us. But what we mistook for comfort was, in reality, shared poison. Together, we sank deeper into the abyss.
Our relationship was not born from love, but from desperation. Toxicity seeped into every corner of it. Trust turned into suspicion. Support morphed into manipulation. Arguments erupted like sudden storms, and apologies were whispered through clenched teeth—never truly meant, yet always expected.
Looking back, I see how we were both drowning, clinging to each other as we sank further down. Instead of pulling each other up, we dragged each other under. Our connection, which once seemed like a lifeline, became a chain binding us to our worst selves.
The Breaking Point
The end came in an explosion of fury. One final, ferocious argument shattered what little remained of our fragile bond. Words were hurled like weapons, leaving wounds too deep to heal. That day, we walked away from each other, carrying the wreckage of our friendship and the scars it left behind.
Years passed, and the road to recovery found me. It was not an easy journey—recovery never is. It is a path littered with the remnants of your former self, and every step forward feels like a battle against the weight of your past mistakes. But little by little, I began to rebuild. I learned to forgive myself for the destruction I had caused, and I started to see a future beyond the chaos.
Making Amends—Or Letting Go
As part of my recovery, I reached Step Nine of the program—the step that calls us to make amends to those we have harmed unless doing so would cause further harm. It is a humbling and gut-wrenching process, a mirror held up to the wreckage of our past.
I often thought about that friendship during this step. I wondered if making peace would help heal the wounds we had inflicted on each other. Then, one day, I saw that person again. It was like seeing a ghost. They looked different—healthier, stronger, whole. Recovery had found them, too.
I wanted to reach out, to say everything I had never been able to say before. I wanted to express how sorry I was, that I wished I could undo the harm we had done to each other. But I didn’t.
Something held me back—not fear, but understanding. Step Nine is not just about apologizing; it is about discernment. It is about recognizing when making amends will heal and when it might reopen wounds that need to stay closed. In our case, the best way to honor the past was to leave it where it belonged—in the past.
A New Battle, A Stronger Faith
I have come to accept that this friendship, toxic as it was, played a role in my journey. It showed me the person I never want to be again. It taught me the importance of boundaries, of self-respect, and of walking away from what harms me, even if it once felt like home.
But as I moved forward in my recovery, another battle entered my life—a medical diagnosis, I never expected. It was as if life was testing every ounce of strength I had gained. And in those dark moments, when I felt like I couldn’t go on, it wasn’t just recovery that saved me. It was God.
Through all my struggles—addiction, recovery, and the fight for my life—I felt God’s hand guiding me, reminding me of my will to survive, of the purpose behind my pain. I believe that my experience with that friendship, as painful as it was, prepared me to face something even greater. It taught me to lean on faith, to find strength in the darkest corners, and to trust that no matter how broken I felt, God was not finished with me yet.
The Power of Letting Go
To those reading this who may be haunted by the ghosts of toxic relationships or battling their own demons, I want to tell you this: you are not defined by those moments. You are not bound to the mistakes you made or the harm you caused in the throes of your addiction. Recovery is a process of letting go—of old habits, old pain, and sometimes, old connections.
We cannot rewrite the past, but we can shape the future. Forgive yourself for what you didn’t know then. Learn from the pain, and let it guide you toward a better version of yourself. Not every relationship survives recovery, and that’s okay. Some doors are meant to stay closed, and some people are meant to be lessons, not lifelong companions.
As for that person, I hope they are thriving. I hope they have found the peace we both sought in all the wrong places. And wherever they are, I hope they know that our story, though painful, was not in vain. It was part of the journey that led us to the light.
Recovery is messy and imperfect, but it is a gift. Keep walking your path, no matter how hard it gets. Let the past shape you, but do not let it define you. You are more than the darkness you have endured—you are the light that fights to shine through.
And when you reach the steps that call for you to make peace, remember this: sometimes, peace is not found in words or apologies—it is found in the quiet strength of moving forward, leaning on God’s grace, and honoring the lessons of your past.
